


slow show

by thomashelbys



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 16:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomashelbys/pseuds/thomashelbys
Summary: Still, when the knock on his hotel door comes, he’s not surprised to find that out of everyone on the team, of course it’s Robbo who’s standing there, brave enough to come looking after him.(Kiev, May 2018)





	slow show

**Author's Note:**

> this is, uh, pretty experimental and pretty self-indulgent, i guess. i'm kinda stuck on everything else i've been trying to write for them, and the idea for this one came to me one morning so i thought, "ok, i have to try at least". also, yes, i know april 2019 is a bit late to be writing about That final but this is half me coping with potentially losing the prem title to city and half me proving to myself that i can write robbo and virgil.  
> all mistakes are mine, please let me know if u spot anything!  
> hope u like it!!

_Kiev, May 2018_

Virgil is well aware that he’s not the most amicable person to be around after they’ve lost.  He prefers to have a sulk on his own for a few hours before pulling himself back together, before the urge to _go again_ – and it’s crazy, how much the words of a past hero mean to him already – rises on his bloodstream like a tidal wave. This is different, though, because they have just lost a final, a _Champions League_ final on top of that, so there is no going again. This is the end of the line, at least for now, and a mix of sadness, anger and disappointment sits heavy on his gut.

Still, when the knock on his hotel door comes, he’s not surprised to find that out of everyone on the team, of course it’s Robbo who’s standing there, brave enough to come looking after him. There’s a dejected slump to his wiry shoulders and his eyes are red-rimmed, and Virgil sighs, moving aside to let Robbo in. The Scotsman makes a beeline for the bed, plopping face down on the pillow, and Virgil pads after him quietly.

“Why are you here, Andy?” Virgil murmurs, but it’s not unkindly. Robbo is close friends with Milly, so Virgil had figured he wouldn’t be his first choice on a time like this. Virgil lies on his back beside him, but turns his face so he can watch Robbo’s face in the semi darkness of the room.

Robbo blinks slowly at Virgil before turning on his side. He moves minimally closer to Virgil before wrapping his arms around himself. Virgil watches him breath in, and out, and then in again. Robbo wets his lips, and Virgil’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue too.

“I know you like being alone after a loss,” Robbo starts, “but I didn’t– I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to be alone.”

Andy’s voice breaks, his words quiet and slow, so different from how he normally sounds, and seeing Scottish beam of sunlight Andy Robertson this subdued tugs sharply, painfully at Virgil’s heartstrings. He pulls Robbo closer when he sees tears welling up on his brown eyes and Robbo hides his face on the crook of Virgil’s neck, hand clutching at his shirt while Virgil runs his fingers up and down Robbo’s back.

“I really felt like we could do it. Win it,” Robbo says, and Virgil takes a deep breath because, _yeah_ , he knows that feeling, “I wanted it so much. I wanted to know how it feels like, winning something, I guess. We all wanted it so much. And it’s all gone now. I feel like– like I let everyone down. The fans put so much faith in me and I–  I let them down so bad.”

“No, Robbo. Andy, hey, listen to me,” Virgil shakes his head, pressing his lips to Robbo’s temple, “you didn’t. You didn’t let anyone down.”

A broken sob makes Robbo’s shoulders shake, and he burrows closer to Virgil’s chest before he mumbles in a broken plea, “Then why we didn’t win it, Virg?”

There’s a sting behind Virgil’s eyelids. Part of him wants to run up to Real Madrid’s hotel and rip the goddamn trophy from their hands – it’s an ugly feeling, and Virgil’s not proud of it, but it distracts him from the sadness that amasses on his chest at the sound of Robbo’s broken sobs and the sharp knife-like pain of _not being good enough yet_. The other part of him wants to hide with Robbo in this dimly lit hotel room forever, or at least everything stops hurting so much. Until his legs stop burning from running up and down, up and down the pitch, all in vain. Until he can breathe more easily, think more clearly.  

“Football is cruel like that, sometimes,” Virgil murmurs, squeezes the back of Robbo’s neck once, twice before thumbing gently at the top of his spine. He goes on, “We were fighting a fight with one hand tied behind our backs the whole time, and we still did everything we could. And it wasn’t enough, and it hurts, yeah. It hurts right now, and it’ll hurt for a while, but the world turns. It keeps going, and we have to keep going with it. It might take a while to get over this one, but we’ll be back next season, and we’ll be even more hungry for it.”

“And the Prem,” Robbo whispers a moment later, his hand a gentle weight on Virgil’s ribs now, “we go again.”

There’s a lightness on Robbo’s voice that matches the one blossoming on Virgil’s chest after his little rant. _Huh_ , he thinks, _this is new_. Virgil feels his lips turn slightly upwards, his hand still caressing the back of Robbo’s neck. “Of course.”

“Sorry,” Robbo says after a while, “I didn’t mean to– freak out on you like that.”

“It’s ok,” Virgil rests his chin on the top of Robbo’s head. “Talking to you is nice.”

Robbo hums, then runs his nose up the column of Virgil’s throat until he reaches his jaw. His grip on the back of Robbo’s neck tightens infinitesimally, and he pulls back so he can look up at Virgil, his big brown eyes glimmering even in the low light. They just look at each other for a moment, their breaths in sync and their legs tangling together. Virgil brings his hand to Robbo’s freckled face, thumbing at his sharp cheekbone before leaning down and closing the gap between their mouths. Virgil can feel the upward turn of Robbo’s smile against his lips, and he smiles too, before nibbling softly at Robbo’s bottom lip. Robbo lets out a content sigh and opens his mouth, letting Virgil kiss him more deeply.

It’s soft, and gentle, and completely different from their first kiss a few weeks ago – in the changing room after Robbo’s first goal for Liverpool, with Robbo on the tip of his toes as Virgil pressed him against the shower wall. This kiss is warmth, and comfort, and healing, all wrapped into one.

“This is nice,” Robbo murmurs when they break apart, blinking sleepily at him, pressing his finger to the pulse point on Virgil’s neck for a moment, “really, really nice.”

Virgil hums in agreement, kissing the corner of Robbo’s mouth, then his cheek, then his closed eyelids, hand tracing patterns down his back. “Do you wanna stay?”

Robbo nods, moving so Virgil can turn off the lights and pull the duvet over their bodies. They settle back together, Andy with his back now pressed to Virgil’s chest, and Virgil throws his arm around Robbo’s torso, fingers dipping under his shirt and pressing into his belly a little, making Robbo giggle softly as their legs align under the covers. Robbo pats the hand resting on his belly before entwining their fingers together.

“I’m glad I came looking for you,” Robbo sighs, and Virgil can’t see his face but he knows Robbo is smiling that soft smile of his.

“I’m glad you came looking for me too,” Virgil says, pressing a kiss to Robbo’s ear before closing his eyes and letting the rhythm of their breaths lull him into a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblrrrrrr](https://divckorigi.tumblr.com) as well


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